


The Decision

by urami



Series: SCPTale [2]
Category: SCP Foundation, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death (sorta), Female Chara (Undertale), Gen, Implied/Referenced Neglect, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Indestructible Nokia Phones, Knives, Male Frisk (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 18:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urami/pseuds/urami
Summary: Takes place concurrently withFlowey the Flower, Agent of Chaos. However you can read this one first, it will still make sense.Frisk's parents work at the SCP Foundation. His father is probably dead and his mother is more interested in the SCP object she studies than in her own son. When a large containment breach takes place, Frisk takes advantage of the chaos to make a break for it. He probably should have stayed away from that anomalous mountain though...





	The Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Bahahaha, this is almost the same length as the first story- and it's only one part!

Cold. Clinical. Sterile.

While there were billions and billions of words in the world, those three were likely the best ones to use to described Site-19. Long, endless hallways lined with secure containment cells, flickering fluorescent lights that never seemed to light up all the way, barracks that looked like they’d been lifted wholesale out of a documentary about one of the World Wars, and an ever-present tension that seeped into the background of daily life. Everyone who lived here, of course, knew just how fragile the universe is. Any moment, all of this could cease to exist and everyone would die horribly.

Even so, with all of this looming overhead, things might have been more bearable for ten-year-old Frisk Nguyen if it hadn’t been for the crushing isolation. There weren’t many children at the site. Most researchers didn’t have children, and the few children that did live there were more often than not SCP objects themselves, and Frisk was forbidden from interacting with them.

The adults weren’t much better. His mother was working on the SCP-166 project, trying to find some way to reduce the girl’s sex appeal, and she seemed to care about the succubus-like being more than her own son. And as for his father? Allegedly, he was doing deep undercover work in a Marshall, Carter, and Dark office, but nobody had seen or heard from him in two months, not even his supervisor. Frisk thought his father was probably dead, but he didn’t see the point in telling anyone about his suspicions. It wouldn’t bring him back from the afterlife, if such a thing even existed. And Foundation agents had a sky-high mortality rate. It came with the territory of having to interact with reality-breaking monsters, godlike entities that could erase entire cities from existence if they sneezed wrong, anomalous terrorist organizations. “Spontaneous existential failure” was an ordinary job hazard around here.

Occasionally, other adults who lived on site would remember that Frisk existed and would take an interest in his well-being. Several times a month, a researcher would remember he existed and brought in workbooks to see the child’s education. D-33805, the condemned criminal who cleaned the apartment once a week had taught Frisk how to use a knife- “in case one of these fuckin’ things gets loose and comes for you. Dunno what they’re thinking, having a kid living here...” A few times even bigwigs had stopped by to see how he was doing. Dr. Bright had even let Frisk participate in testing the YWTGTHFT machine (and promptly got chewed out by Dr. Clef for it). Well, at least Frisk had gotten a few cookies out of it.

But most of the time, Frisk just laid around his mother’s apartment and stared blankly at the window. Visible from the building was the apex of the nearby mountain. Mt. Ebott.

The mountain was something of a mystery, even to the Foundation. Every time they tried to send a drone to explore it, the equipment failed five to ten minutes into the test. Every time they tried to send an exploration team, they would just sort of aimlessly wander around until they ended up back at Site-19, no matter how improbable that was. But it was what happened when individual people tried to climb the mountain that was _really_ weird. If a lone person climbed the mountain, they were never heard from again, and no bodies were ever recovered. Speculation about what was up there ranged from aliens to Bigfoot to cannibalistic pseudo-humans to a temporal anomaly, but the O5 council refused to approve an SCP object number for the mountain because there just wasn’t enough data to classify it as anything. It was listed instead as an anomalous location and personnel were warned to avoid it. As for how they dealt with civilians that got too close, Frisk didn’t know. _Probably shoot them,_ he thought morbidly. 

He wasn’t really sure why he was fascinated with the strange mountain. He really,  _really_ wanted to climb it. He didn’t think it was any sort of death wish- it wasn’t like he was actively suicidal or anything- at least, he didn’t think he was, anyway. And it definitely wasn’t out of any desire to go try to discover new anomalies. Unlike most of the other children whose parents were Foundation personnel, Frisk had no intention of following in their footsteps. Assuming he would be allowed to do anything else, of course- he’d once overheard some of the older children talking about how the Foundation often picked people’s careers for them. 

Maybe Frisk just wanted to see something outside of the rarefied, tightly controlled environment of Site-19. The unknown, untamed, wildness of Mt. Ebbot seemed like a good contrast, and it was close-by enough that it seemed like it was potentially an obtainable destination.

And so, Frisk spent many days sitting in his mother’s bleak apartment, staring out the window at the mountain, dreaming of what might be up there. He had a sort of half-believed fantasy that he would find buried treasure that would make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. Or maybe a witch lived up there, and she would agree to adopt him and teach him magic. Or maybe there was a whole city up there, totally unknown to the Foundation, and he would finally get to meet different people, people with no connection to the shady agency. Of course, though, Frisk realistically knew that there was probably nothing up there, or if there was, it was probably nothing more exotic than a territorial grizzly bear.  And even if he did try to go there one day, someone would probably just catch him and haul him back to Site-19 by his ear and dose him with amnestics to make him forget all about his desire to see the mountain. 

Then, one day, the Keter-class total breach alarms went off.

Keter-class objects were extremely dangerous and often hostile. Only an idiot would put himself out in the open if one of  _those_ was on the loose, and the total breach alarm meant that the entire site’s Keter containment wing was compromised. But, in that case, staying put in Site-19 was almost just as stupid. The last time SCP-076-2 had broken out he’d gone straight to the residential barracks. It was also around 2:00 AM, so most people who weren’t working overnight duty had been asleep. The fatality toll that time had been 87 researchers, sixteen civilian relatives, twenty MTF special agents, five dogs, two cats,  a truly alarming number of tropical fish, a parrot, six humanoid SCP objects, and Dr. Bright’s brand-new iPhone. It would have been even more, but as it turned out, a husband-and-wife pair in MTF Gamma-98 and three D-class personnel had set up a meth lab in the former’s apartment. 076-2 had barged in, disrupted the process, causing an explosion that killed all five of them (six if you counted Able himself). 

Deciding that staying put in the apartment was at least as dumb as going looking for whatever monstrosity had gotten loose this time, Frisk quickly pulled on his shoes, grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen, and booked it out into the hallway. Nobody else seemed to be coming this way, so Frisk hurried to the emergency exit and pushed it open. The “door open” alarm was almost inaudible over the constant screeching of the other alarms, and when ten seconds went by without an MTF making use of that weird hyperjump thing they could use to get to trouble  as close to immediately as was possible, Frisk decided to make a break for it in the direction of Mt. Ebbot.. 

It took Frisk most of the rest of the afternoon to make it to the base of the mountain. And he was beginning to regret not grabbing something from the fridge before he’d left home, but he knew that if he went back now, he might never have another shot at this again. So he continued. Maybe he’d be able to find some edible plants if he climbed a bit higher up the mountain. One of the MTF agents who’d gone on one of the pointless missions to attempt to explore it had mentioned there were some berry bushes about a third of the way up.

Ultimately, Frisk did find the berries, and some dandelions as he got closer to the top. They didn’t taste that great, but they would at least keep him from passing out from hunger.

However, it was beginning to get late, and it had gotten dark a few hours earlier. Frisk wasn’t paying the most attention to where he was stepping, and his foot snagged on a tree root. He lost his balance and fell, down and down, not hitting the ground when he thought it would have made sense. Belatedly, he realized he might have fallen down an old mine shaft or something.

The last thought that went through his head before he blacked out was  _oh god! I’m going to die!_

 

* * *

“Oh! My goodness! Are you alright, my child?!”

Frisk’s eyes fluttered open. It was morning, and it was a nice one at that. It was sunny, he could hear birds chirping, and flowers were blooming. And an eight-foot-tall goat in a dress was extending a hand (paw? Hoof?) to help him up.

“Uwah!” he yelped, scooting backwards on his butt as quickly as he could. What the heck? Did he hit his head when he fell? Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? Wait a minute, was this _hell?!_ Wasn’t the devil supposed to look like a goat?!

The goat looked somewhat sad, but seemed to understand. “You took quite a fall, my child,” it said, in a soft, feminine voice. “I understand that you must be confused and frightened, but I will not hurt you. I am called Toriel, and I pass by here every day to make sure that no one has fallen down.”

Frisk looked at her suspiciously, and then shrugged. If she was going to kill him it would have been a lot easier to do it while he was passed out on the ground, or to catch him off guard while he was still trying to scramble to his feet. So he accepted the offered paw, and Toriel helped him up. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You are welcome,” Toriel said with a smile. “Now, come with me. I will show you how to get around down here. Long ago, we monsters installed these fusions between keys and puzzles as a security measure; it is different than it is on the Surface.”

Toriel showed Frisk how to trigger the switches that turned off the booby traps that blocked the path, and Frisk could feel his eyes widening. Vaguely, he wondered if the people down here had dealt with Keter-class objects before. Some of these things were absolutely lethal, and Frisk was pretty sure they’d stop anything short of the Hard-to-Destroy Reptile himself. But it wasn’t particularly difficult to turn them off, so it didn’t seem like it would be too hard to get through this strange place. Toriel was so kind to him, too, praising him when he solved a puzzle. Frisk couldn’t remember the last time his mother had praised him. Most of the time she barely acknowledged his existence. Eventually, though, Toriel looked at the time and gasped.

“Oh no! I am running behind! Please, wait for me here while I complete my errands. Ah, I will give you this cell phone!” she exclaimed, rummaging around in her voluminous pockets, eventually pulling out an old Nokia phone- one of the ones that looked like a brick. Frisk blinked. He hadn’t seen one of those in years! In fact, the _only_ time he’d ever seen one was because there was one in the Foundation’s possession that was quite literally indestructible. They’d tried to feed it to SCP-682 in a particularly idiotic attempt to kill the thing through intestinal blockage. And crazily enough, the crocodile monster came out worse for wear after than encounter. 

“If you have any questions, or someone wants to fight you, stall them as much as you can and I will come as quickly as possible to resolve the conflict.” Frisk accepted the phone, and then stood at the side of the entrance to the rest of the Ruins.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Thirty minutes passed, then forty. After forty-five minutes, however, Frisk began to get bored. Toriel hadn’t returned and Frisk began to wonder if she had forgotten about him. After all, she had seemed to be in quite a hurry, and if she was anything like his own mother, she probably had gotten distracted by something and totally forgotten about his existence.

Briefly, the boy considered bivouacking down here and waiting for Toriel to return, but he quickly vetoed that idea. He only had the steak knife and his shoes- nothing he could use to make a shelter. He also didn’t really see any sort of plants or debris that would work for making one.

So, cautiously, clutching the kitchen knife, he advanced through the entryway. The knife was really just a precaution. He didn’t actually want to kill anything. It was messy, and if most of the adults at the Foundation were any indication, it messed up your mind. Even the _less_ crazy ones were still kind of deranged.

The first few time Frisk ran into a weird creature he was able to scare it off by waving the knife around threateningly. The frog-like, butterfly-like, and weird talking carrot things mostly ran in the opposite direction as soon as they noticed the weapon. He had a bit more trouble with a thing that looked vaguely like those strange fancy gelatin desserts the Site-19 cafeteria occasionally offered, but he sort of wiggled in response at it, and it let him go eventually.

But then he ran into the beetle. Or, well, beetle-like creature, as it appeared to be sapient, and it was quite a bit bigger than any beetle Frisk had ever seen. First, he tried to threaten it, since that had worked so far to scare off the monsters, but it didn’t work. The beetle just shot projectiles at him, and Frisk felt one graze his cheek. It actually hurt quite a bit more than he’d expected- once, he’d broken his wrist by smashing it in a car door, and this pain was comparable to that. Something in the boy snapped. He had run away from home, climbed an anomalous mountain, and had fallen down a hole. He had no idea how long it had been since he left Site-19. For all he knew, it could have been days. He was hungry. He was tired. And he _really_ wanted to take a shower. And this stupid bug was standing in his way.

Gritting his teeth, Frisk lunged forward and buried the knife to the hilt in the bug monster. The thing’s eyes widened briefly, before it collapsed into a pile of white dust. The particles tickled his nose and Frisk couldn’t hold back a sneeze. Dust scattered everywhere, and Frisk winced involuntarily. If that dust had been the bug thing thirty seconds ago, it was basically the same thing as human cremains, wasn’t it? And he’d so disrespectfully scattered them just now.

But then again, the bug had attacked him first. And if the reaction he’d had to the projectiles was any indication, the bug would have happily killed _him._ So he couldn’t feel _too_ bad.

Frisk felt even less badly when something almost like a computer pop-up ad appeared in his field of vision.

_You have gained 2 EXP and 15 gold._

The boy didn’t know exactly what that meant, but something inside told him that it only meant good things. Oddly enough, the voice inside of his head sounded like a young girl approximately his own age. Since when had that happened?

_You become stronger the more EXP you get, and when you get enough, your LOVE increases. You want some LOVE, don’t you?”_

Deciding not to question why his subconscious was apparently female all of a sudden, Frisk shrugged and continued on his way, but he’d barely taken five steps before the brick of a cell phone rang.

“Uh, hello?” he answered. Toriel, the goat woman, was on the other end asking him a question in her warm voice. “I just wanted to ask you, do you prefer cinnamon or butterscotch?” she asked. Frisk blinked. What kind of a question was that? The voice in his head snorted at that, but didn’t add any commentary.

“Butterscotch, I guess?” he replied.

“Butterscotch. I see,” Toriel answered. “But you do not _dislike_ cinnamon?” she added. Frisk shook his head before he remembered he was talking on the phone and that the person on the other line could not actually see him.

“Cinnamon is fine.” he replied.

“Thank you for telling me,” Toriel said, before hanging up.

Frisk stuck the phone back in his pocket, and continued on. He came across a few more of the shy butterfly things- but this time he didn’t chase them off. He just killed them as soon as he saw them. He almost felt kind of bad about it, but every time his EXP and gold increased he could feel his subconscious purring in satisfaction.

Eventually, though, he came across something that he was at a loss for what to do with. Most of the monsters he’d encountered up until now had looked like insects, frogs, or vegetables. This one looked like a cartoon drawing of a ghost. How the heck was he supposed to fight a ghost?! You couldn’t stab it! You couldn’t shoot it! You couldn’t punch it! Even the Foundation couldn’t do much with ghosts except attempt an exorcism, and that didn’t always work, if the ghost was determined enough to stick around.

“Um, hello? Can you hear me?” Frisk asked. The ghost ignored him, but did mutter audibly under its “breath.”

“If I stay still and pretend to be asleep maybe it will go away.”

Somewhat annoyed at being referred to as an “it,” Frisk rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe he had a slight build and hadn’t had a haircut in a while, but he didn’t think he looked _that_ feminine. Could people really not tell he was a boy? “I can hear you, you know,” said boy said irritably.

“Oh...” the ghost replied morosely, switching his position so that he was floating upright. He sniffled. “I’m sorry...” he muttered, starting to cry. Frisk jumped back, not having expected _that._

“H-hey, it’s okay,” he said. “People talk about me like I’m not there all the time anyway.” That didn’t have the desired effect- instead Frisk had to dodge the ghost’s tears, which were coming towards him as projectiles. What was it with these things and projectiles, anyway? Was it a cultural thing? Was it somehow part of their biology? Frisk had no idea.

“I did something so thoughtless to you,” the ghost said quietly. “I’m so sorry.” Frisk dodged more tears, although he did notice that the ghost didn’t seem to be flinging them at him purposely. They just sort of flung themselves vaguely in the direction of the human boy before splashing against nothing in particular and dissipating.

Eventually the waterworks stopped and the ghost went back to merely sniffling. Frisk was at a loss for what to do. What could you do to cheer up a depressed ghost? The first thing that popped into his head was to tell a stupid joke that he’d heard from one of the D-class when the woman didn’t realize he’d been lurking around within earshot. “What do you call a psychic midget that escaped from prison? A small medium at large!” It wasn’t all that funny, and the other D-class women who’d heard the joke hadn’t thought it was all that great either, but it still got a weak laugh from the ghost.

“Heh...”

“If you thought that was funny, I have more!” Frisk added, encouraged. “Why couldn’t the pirate sit down? He had his booty stolen!”

He and the ghost, who Frisk learned was named Napstablook, had a conversation for a while longer. Napstablook told Frisk he worked on his family’s snail farm, showed him some magic, and then spoke again. “Usually I come to the Ruins because there’s no one around, but today I met someone nice.” He flew out of the way, allowing Frisk to pass.

Before too long, Frisk made his way to a surprisingly well-maintained house for a place called the “Ruins.” The large goat-like woman working in the garden seemed incredibly surprised to see him. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You are here already? My goodness, it must be later than I had thought. Are you alright, my child?”

“Yes,” Frisk said quickly, hoping that Toriel wouldn’t ask too many questions about how he’d gotten through the Ruins, considering he’d killed a number of the creatures that lived there. But Toriel didn’t pursue the issue.

“You must be hungry. Please, come inside. I have dinner ready.”

Dinner turned out to be a large pie- butterscotch and cinnamon flavored. It was a bizarre combination, but ultimately a delicious one. After the meal, it was getting quite late, and Frisk was starting to feel tired. It was as though Toriel had expected that, however, and she led him to a room with a bed already made up for someone to sleep in. But there was an air of disuse to it, as though Toriel rarely went in there. Honestly, Frisk found something about the room incredibly unsettling, but he _was_ very tired. He fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Frisk woke up feeling more refreshed than he could remember being, well… ever. And it appeared that Toriel had sneaked into the room while he was out cold and left another piece of the butterscotch pie. Under many circumstances, Frisk would have found that very alarming- living at Site-19, anything that would sneak into your room while you were asleep was probably not something you wanted in there. Unless it was the snuggly sentient scarf, which had actually happened to him once. Apparently the scarf would get lonely, escape its containment box, and go looking for someone who would play with it, and that time, it had chosen Frisk. When Dr. Clef had shown up to retrieve it, Frisk had a completely insane idea that he could grab Scarf and make a run for it, maybe try to make a life for themselves somewhere else, but he quickly scrapped that idea. Even if he could run fast enough, escaping from Alto Clef with a stolen SCP object in tow was a good way to commit suicide. In fact, Frisk was pretty sure Dr. Bright had actually tried it once, only for it to fail (and it wasn’t due to lack of homicidal intent or skill on Dr. Clef’s part) like every other stunt he pulled that _should_ have killed a normal person.

“Good morning, my child,” Toriel greeted her houseguest when he entered the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you,” Frisk replied politely. Toriel beamed.

“I am pleased to hear that. Now, what shall we do today? You are in school still, are you not? Even if you are going to live down here that is no excuse to neglect your studies.” Frisk scowled. It wasn’t that he _disliked_ studying, exactly, but he kind of felt like there were a few more important things to worry about.

“Actually,” Frisk began, “I was wondering if you could show me the way to the exit of the Ruins.”

If her skin had been visible underneath her fuzz, Toriel’s face would have been chalk-white as the blood (or whatever monsters had instead) drained from her face. The goat woman took an almost involuntary step backwards, looking at Frisk in abject horror.

“Please return to your room, my child,” she said distractedly. “There is something I need to do.” She took off at a dead run, booking it down the staircase outside of the kitchen. Naturally, Frisk followed her.

When they reached the end of the basement corridor- a hallway that led to a large gate sealed shut- Frisk watched in shock as the kindly monster woman summoned an enormous fireball. “What are you doing?!” he yelped.

“I am going to destroy this accursed gate. Too many- monsters, humans, both- too many have been lost already. I will not lose anyone else.”

“I don’t understand,” Frisk said frantically. “Who has been lost? What’s going on?”

Toriel explained that her ex-husband had declared war on the humans after a tragedy that she refused to elaborate on, although Frisk knew enough Foundation history to guess what it was- in the 1980s, a strange creature had appeared at Site-19 carrying the corpse of an escaped humanoid. An MTF killed the weird creature, although it fled with the corpse before succumbing to its injuries. At least, that was the conjecture the Foundation had reached. Apparently Director Aktus believed that if it had survived it would have come back to slaughter them all.

Toriel’s ex had intended to use human souls to break the Mt. Ebott barrier that sealed them all underground and free all of the monsters. However, in order to get a human soul, the human had to die first. Apparently a handful of other humans had fallen into the Underground, left the Ruins (and Toriel’s care) only to be killed by the man whose name Toriel was so fluently cursing now. “I will not allow it to happen again,” she said darkly.

“I won’t go far,” Frisk tried to bargain, but Toriel was not having it.

“All of the other monsters will abide by Asgore’s decree,” she said. “If you leave the Ruins they will kill you.”

Frisk debated telling her that before he had ended up down here, he’d lived in a big compound full of entities that would love for nothing more than to kill him, probably much more horribly than anything he was likely to encounter down here, but somehow he didn’t think it would have the desired effect. Toriel would probably lock him in that room upstairs herself. So instead he just said he was confident in his ability to not die.

“If you truly wish to leave so badly,” Toriel finally said, “then prove yourself to me. Prove to me that you are strong enough to survive whatever the others will throw at you.” Without giving him any other warning, she launched a large fireball directly at Frisk, who just barely dodged it. He tried to talk to Toriel, but she just looked away from him and launched more fireballs, that that Frisk was pushed to his limits to dodge.

He didn’t particularly want to do it. Toriel had been so kind to him. But now she was throwing literal _fire_ at him. Reluctantly, the boy grabbed the knife in his pocket and launched himself forward.

Normally, a human wouldn’t die from two or three stab wounds to non-vital areas of the body. Frisk made sure to avoid the areas that on a human would be dangerous. He went out of his way to avoid the places that would be most likely to kill a human- the carotid artery, the solar plexus, mid-back where the kidneys would have been, the entire stomach area. In fact, he was certain he had only hit her twice- first in the left hand, and then the buttocks. Neither place would have been anything more than annoying for a human. But Toriel’s eyes widened as she collapsed.

“You… are stronger than I had thought,” she gasped out. “You are… powerful… but… Asgore… you _must_ stay alive, do you understand?” Toriel looked at Frisk with pleading eyes. Frisk stared back, horror reflected in his own. “Be good. Won’t you?” 

Then, the woman clutched at her chest and dissolved into dust. 

“NO!” Frisk screamed, darting forward and clutching at the substance as though he would be able to reassemble her like a jigsaw puzzle. “No… no...” 

The human boy was overcome with a violent wave of nausea. He turned around and immediately vomited up all of that butterscotch pie. He staggered back towards the staircase, hoping to make it back upstairs before he threw up or collapsed. 

He didn’t make it. Another popup crashed into his peripheral vision. 

_You have gained 500 EXP and 500 gold. Your LOVE has increased to 9._

Frisk sank to his knees. What had he done? He heard the voice in the back of his head say something, but he ignored it. He couldn’t understand the words anyway, not over the blood crashing in his ears.

Carefully, he considered the knife. Could he atone for this? He could slit his throat. He’d bleed out quickly, and he wouldn’t end up warped like so many Foundation agents had from all the murders they’d committed. If the afterlife existed he’d try to find Toriel and ask if there was anything he could do to make up for what he’d done. Maybe he’d let himself get reincarnated as a D-class and feed himself to SCP-682. Maybe that would make up for it.

Just as he was about to drag the knife across his own carotid artery, his vision went blindingly white and he blacked out.

When he came to, Frisk found himself lying under a strangely familiar natural skylight in a cave, lying on a strangely familiar bed of yellow flowers. Right in front of him was another yellow flower- although this one was exponentially bigger than the others, had a face, and was clutching a sheet of paper in its leaves.

Frisk stared at the flower, and the flower stared right back at Frisk. After what seemed like a decade, although it was probably just a few seconds, the flower finally put into words what the human was thinking.

“What the fuck?!”

 

/END (for now~!)

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually one of these days I'm going to finish FtF... 
> 
> There's the last chapter of that, this fic, another oneshot (that's going to be quite a bit darker), and then it's going to be time for the next multi-chapter. Working title of that one? The Big Damn Sequel: Shit's Really Fucked Up Now, And Who The FUCK Gave Flowey A Gun!? Or Let Corporal Lawrence Drive!?
> 
> Eh. It's a work in progress. :P 
> 
> Yes, Chara is the voice inside of Frisk's head. Having him crash onto her grave woke her up and gave her someone with enough Determination to mooch off of.
> 
> I know it’s kind of unusual to have Frisk be a boy- I have seen way more fics where Frisk is female or androgynous, but I thought it would be funnier to have Frisk be male and wondering why his subconscious is apparently a young girl all of a sudden.
> 
> Thank you for reading~!


End file.
